Sofia had never laid eyes on the Statue of Liberty before. Her excursions beyond the confines of the Hokkaido facility were rare and typically limited to matters directly related to her research. Thus, the iconic stature of Lady Liberty has remained a distant image to her until now.
However, she was well aware of its significance. As a Templar, the historical importance of landmarks like the Statue of Liberty was ingrained in her understanding. It stood as a symbol of freedom and democracy, a beacon of hope for millions.
The colossal figure, standing tall at 93 meters, with its torch held high, was a testament to the ideals of liberty and enlightenment. Its copper facade, weathered over time, still gleamed in the sunlight, casting a majestic silhouette against the backdrop of the New York skyline.
While many found inspiration and solace in its presence, Sofia felt none of it. Her heart weighed heavy with a tumultuous mix of guilt, fear, and anger, overshadowing any sense of awe the statue might evoke.
She had not exchanged a single word with her father since they departed from the rooftop of the Abstergo Foundation Rehabilitation Center. Sofia observed in silence as the rest of her team also boarded helicopters, whisked away to safety. She knew better than to interpret their inclusion in the evacuation as an act of kindness on her father's part. She overheard him instructing Tadakuni to secure the Animus; to him, the individuals operating it were merely components of a valuable machine, easily replaceable but costly to train anew.
The journey from the facility to Paris Island was direct, with radio communication preceding their arrival to ensure the site's security and the commencement of the operation. Sofia's father made it clear that there would be no delay for bureaucratic formalities. Instead, their arrival would be met with immediate action, conducted in a manner befitting the urgency of their mission.
In silence, the Doctors Rikkin proceeded, Sofia trailing behind her father unnoticed and unacknowledged by those they encountered. It was Alan Rikkin who commanded respect, while Sofia remained little more than an afterthought to the officials who greeted her father and ushered him inside.
As they neared the statue, Sofia couldn't help but marvel at its grandeur, towering above them with an air of majesty and freedom. Yet, within its towering frame lay the object of their pursuit, a stark reminder that power and ambition often overshadowed the ideals they purported to represent.
They arrived precisely on time. One of the park attendants descended from the pedestal, carefully cradling a small, ornate metal box in his hands. Sofia's heart skipped a beat. This box was different from the one she had seen in the plans. Could it be that the Piece of Eden she had devoted her life to finding had vanished—or worse, been stolen—during the Statue's construction?
A surge of conflicting emotions washed over her. Part of her, in a desperate and treasonous thought, hoped that it had.
The attendant handed the box to her father, who regarded it with a mixture of reverence and apprehension, hesitating to open it. Sofia couldn't help but feel a pang of resentment. She should have been the one to open it.
The weight of the moment was heavy on her shoulders. She had spent her entire life striving for this very instant, allowing her father to commit unspeakable acts in the pursuit of this Piece of Eden. She had pledged to protect Cal, yet in the end, she had abandoned him. Her father's callous words echoed in her mind: "We've merely abandoned them to their own inexorable fate." And now, her father, the architect of her betrayal of Cal, would receive all the glory.
Amidst her turmoil, Sofia heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching. She turned to see Chairwoman Ellen Kaye standing beside her.
"Your Excellency," Sofia greeted, offering a respectful nod.
Kaye initially did not acknowledge the greeting, but the two women stood side by side as Alan Rikkin slowly opened the small metal casket.
"The glory will go to your father," Kaye remarked unexpectedly. "But we both know who found it."
Sofia turned to her, surprised yet strangely comforted by the acknowledgment. Though she had encountered the chairwoman before, Kaye had never shown much interest in her. Now, however, a reserved yet sincere smile graced Kaye's lips.
"Your time will come, my child."
Then, the chairwoman of the Council of Elders of the Templar Order walked up to stand beside the CEO of Abstergo Industries. Together, they gazed upon the Apple of Eden, while Sofia Rikkin, scientist and discoverer, observed from a distance: unwelcome, unacknowledged, and unwanted.
As she stood there, solitary and ignored, her thoughts drifted back, uninvited, to the woman in the hood who wore her face.
Sofia, nominally English by birth and upbringing, had little affection for her homeland's perpetually damp and cloudy skies. She remembered asking as a child why the sky seemed to cry so often, wondering if it, too, had lost its mother. That association lingered, and in her mind, England was forever shrouded in rain.
Tonight, however, the rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and reflecting the lights of the bustling night. Sofia's car pulled up across from Templar Hall, the site of her father's imminent performance. Similar vehicles dotted the area, evidence of Templars converging from around the globe for the monumental event. Politicians, religious leaders, and business tycoons would fill the venue, totaling nearly two thousand attendees.
"Sellout crowd tonight," Sofia thought bitterly as she exited her car, paper tightly clutched in her hand. She crossed the street to the imposing stone building, its formidable façade exuding power yet retaining a certain beauty. Clad in a conservative black dress, high heels, and a cape, she felt the attire suited the occasion.
Security measures were in full force, with cameras positioned at every corner, metal detectors humming, sniffer dogs patrolling, and stations for thorough pat-downs. Sofia was greeted promptly, subjected to a quick but apologetic inspection, and then escorted inside.
She found her father in one of the side cloakrooms, meticulously donning traditional Templar robes over his impeccably tailored suit, his reflection scrutinized in the mirror.
Upon catching sight of her, he offered a fleeting smile, adjusting his cufflinks with practiced precision.
"How do I look?" he inquired, his attention still on his attire. Sofia observed the distinguished graying hair, the refined contours of his face, the crisp maroon and black of his hooded robe, and the square red cross adorning the medallion on his chest.
"Like a Templar," she replied curtly, the chill in her voice unmistakable.
Whether he failed to perceive her tone or simply chose to ignore it, he continued unabated. "A world without crime," he mused. "They'll give you a Nobel Peace Prize for this. You'd better start writing your speech."
"I've read yours," Sophia interjected sharply, her tone edged with skepticism.
This time, her father paused, his movements slowing as their eyes met in the mirror. "And?" he inquired, his curiosity piqued.
Sophia's gaze drifted to the sheaf of papers she held tightly, a mix of apprehension and determination coursing through her. "If we reveal the existence of Gensokyo and merge it with our world, we can transcend the notion of violence," she began, her voice resonating with conviction.
Her father's brows furrowed, a hint of confusion flickering across his features. "Violence?" he echoed, seeking clarification.
Sophia nodded firmly. "Yes, violence. By integrating the magical and human realms, we can eliminate the conflicts born from ignorance and fear. But..." She hesitated, a sudden realization dawning upon her. "But it would involve instilling fear of the Youkai, perpetuating the very cycle of violence I sought to end," she admitted, her voice trailing off.
As she flipped through the remaining pages, outlining her vision for a world free from the shackles of violence, Sophia couldn't shake the nagging doubt gnawing at her conscience. She had hoped to bring about peace, but now she saw the potential consequences of her actions more clearly.
"It's a bold proposition, but it just might work," her father remarked thoughtfully, unaware of the turmoil raging within Sophia's mind.
Sophia met his gaze, her expression troubled. "But at what cost?" she whispered, a sense of unease settling over her like a heavy shroud.
"It's a new beginning," her father's voice resonated with calm assurance as he turned to regard her.
Sofia met his gaze, her mind reeling with conflicting emotions. She had embarked on this journey with noble intentions, seeking to end the suffering wrought by conflict and violence. Yet now, as she stood on the precipice of her achievement, she couldn't shake the unsettling feeling gnawing at her conscience.
"You've done a remarkable thing, Sofia," her father continued, his tone filled with pride. "You don't see it now, but you will, one day. All these centuries, we've been looking for solutions. You, my child... you've eliminated the problem."
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and Sofia couldn't help but feel a pang of remorse. She had known her father despised the Assassins, just as she did, for the pain they had inflicted upon their family. But in her quest to end their reign of violence, had she become blind to the cost of her actions?
"We... I... did this to save lives," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper as she grappled with the magnitude of her realization.
Her father's response was chilling in its conviction. "Not everything deserves to live," he stated matter-of-factly, his words sending a shiver down Sofia's spine as she recalled the face of the last Assassin she encountered.
With a glance at his watch, her father headed for the door, expecting her to follow. Numbly, Sofia forced herself to move, her mind swirling with turmoil as they walked down the corridor flanked by robed Templars.
As they made their way through the bustling halls of power, Sofia struggled to reconcile the utopian vision she had once held with the stark reality before her. "So my program..." she began, her voice trailing off as she sought clarification.
"Has brought order to society for the first time," her father finished her sentence, his words ringing with finality. "We are witnessing the birth of a golden era."
But for Sofia, the dawn of this new era felt more like the onset of a long and bitter twilight, casting a shadow over the very ideals she had once cherished.
"Bought with the blood of untold millions. Nothing good can come of such a birth," Sofia's voice trembled with the weight of her realization, her heart heavy with guilt.
"I'm accountable for this," she confessed, her words barely above a whisper as she struggled to comprehend the enormity of her actions.
Her father's response was dismissive, his tone devoid of remorse. "You've already been accounted for. Our work belongs to the Elders. This is their finest hour."
Sofia felt a surge of disbelief and betrayal. Had he truly misunderstood her intentions, or was this just another callous dismissal?
"You lied to me," she spoke the truth with quiet resolve, her voice devoid of anger but heavy with accusation.
He regarded her with a hint of softened expression, but his words cut deeper than any blade. "I've always known that in your heart, you were a scientist first, a Templar second."
It was a damning indictment of his paternal neglect and manipulation, justifying every cruelty he had inflicted upon her since the loss of her mother.
"And for you, that justifies everything," Sofia retorted bitterly, her voice laced with contempt.
He remained unperturbed, focused on the triviality of his speech rather than the catastrophic implications of their actions. "My speech... it could do with one of your elegant openings."
In that moment, Sofia understood his true motive. He wanted her by his side, a willing accomplice in their misguided quest for control.
With a mixture of disgust and resignation, Sofia realized the depth of her father's depravity.
Not just as an asset; he already had that, he could—and had—used her and her brilliance as it suited him. He didn't need that. He didn't need her editorial skills, her "elegant words."
The comment was an olive branch. Alan Rikkin wanted his little girl truly on his side. As an ally, a believer.
She recalled his comment to her a few days ago. "Do I look old to you?" No one lived forever, not even Grand Masters, and he wanted his only child beside him to carry on his legacy with a willing heart.
He had never been a demonstrative father, and whatever warmth and paternal affection had once existed had all but vanished when her mother gasped out her last breath.
This was how he showed regard. This was how he showed love.
But he had shown her something else tonight as well; had been showing her something else time after time after time. It had taken his endorsement of genocide for her to fully grasp the depths of Alan Rikkin's inhumanity. He was now offering what he could, and she could see it in the slight look of wary hope on his face.
But it was much too little, and far, far too late.
She had the perfect eloquent opening, spoken by the perfect person. Sofia looked her father full in the face and quoted, "'Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.'"
A muscle twitched in his cheek. That was all.
"Not sure I could make that work."
A voice floated to them through the closed doors, interrupting the spell that held them captive in their dysfunctional, intimate connection. "Without further ado, let's welcome the CEO of the Abstergo Foundation, Dr. Alan Rikkin - a man of vision, intellect, and dedication to our cause!"
The doors swung open and light streamed into the dim corridor. Her father did not give her another glance, but turned and strode in, walking to the podium as if nothing, absolutely nothing, had occurred while he was waiting outside to be introduced.
